deck between the wheelhouse and the after-cabin, where he squatted
beside a bucket of water and washed his hands carefully. Both hands
were puffed and red; one of the creases in the left palm bled a steady
trickle. He washed them slowly, with infinite relish of the cool water,
until he felt that peculiar sensation which warns us that we are
watched by another eye.

He looked up to see a young woman standing above him at the rail of the
after-cabin. She had been watching him by the light from the window of
the wheelhouse.




CHAPTER 4


"Let me bandage your hands," she said. "I have some salve in my room."

Her voice was a balm to the troubled heart of Harrigan. His knotted
forehead relaxed.

"Are you coming up?"

"Aye."

He ran up the ladder and followed her to a cabin. She rummaged through
a suitcase and finally brought out a little tin box of salve and a roll
of gauze. As she stooped with her back to him, he saw that her hair was
red--not fiery red like his, but a deep dull bronze, with points of